


Political Affairs

by LizBee



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-23
Updated: 2007-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saxon's not very subtle, but he knows the Doctor's weak points.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Political Affairs

"Oh, now, this isn't fair at all."  The Doctor entered the Prime Minister's office uninvited and sat down.  "I'm left to bounce around the vortex with second-rate Time Agent technology, while you re-enact _Little Britain_ sketches and take over the country."  He got up again and went to examine the bookshelves.  "And it's actually worse than I'd imagined."  He pulled out a paperback.  "_The Prince_?  You can do better than that.  Subtle as a -- a -- well, at least you're not prancing around in black robes anymore."

The Master -- okay, Saxon -- sat behind his desk, merely watching.  And smiling.  That probably meant something bad was about to happen, but he couldn't have installed a crocodile pit or a dispersal chamber without some civil servant noticing, so the Doctor figured he was safe for the moment.

"Tell you what," he said.  "You resign from office and go back to ... I don't know, importing Autons or something.  And I'll go back to UNIT and try and stop you, and in between invasions I can lead zany heists to get my TARDIS back."  He sat down on Saxon's desk, pushing some papers to the floor.  "It'll be fun."

Saxon's smile grew a fraction wider.  "Fun?"

"Sure!  I mean, you're the Prime Minister.  Every radio telescope operator in the country will let you in.  You can even try and chuck me off one, if you like.  Not that it was fun the first time, but maybe I did it wrong?  I had a rough landing."

"I see it now," said Saxon.  "You've gone mad.  Probably the solitude.  Or guilt, maybe.  You never did like making the hard decisions, did you, Doctor?"

"Sorry?"

"The TARDIS told me what you did to Gallifrey."

"Oh, that."  And you couldn't get to your tenth lifetime without learning something about lying, especially not if you'd grown up with -- well.  His dismissal of Gallifrey, the Burning and the genocide, sounded almost convincing.  "She's talking to you, then?" he asked, ever so casually.  "She doesn't often do that, you know.  Talk to other Time Lords.  Not that there are any others to talk to.  Well -- but she's always been stand-offish."

"She liked Romana well enough," Saxon said.

"Yes, but Romana was friendly -- well, when she wasn't putting holes in the console or trying out things she found in the manual.  Romana was..."  The Doctor trailed to a stop.  "Leave her out of this," he snapped.  "You've got the TARDIS, though not for long if I have anything to do about it, and you've got Britain, again not for long -- but leave Romana out of this.  She's dead.  Leave her alone."

"Last time I spoke to the Lady President," said Saxon, "she was threatening to remove me from history all together.  You'll forgive me if I don't share your rose-tinted memories."

And that was -- not below the belt, he couldn't even know -- how could he know?  And the Doctor wasn't going to give him ammunition, so he cast about for something neutral to talk about, _lovely temporal shifts this time of year_, and picked up a photo of Saxon and his 'wife'.

"I knew a woman once," he said, "who had been married for, oh, some good years before she discovered her husband was actually the last of the Jagaroth."

Saxon raised his eyebrows.  "The green skin and single eye didn't provide a hint?"

"He had a very good disguise."

Saxon laughed.  "My wife," he said, "is a very intelligent woman, considering the limitations of her species.  I'm always very careful when I lie to her."

"Do that often?  Late nights, secretaries and the occasional murder?"

"Sometimes."  Saxon tapped restlessly on his desk, his ring rapping loudly on the wood.  "When I need to."

But the Doctor was distracted; he was looking at the ring, and things were falling into place.  Only they couldn't be, because that was impossible, and it wasn't as though he didn't do eight impossible things before breakfast, but seriously, there had to be limits.  Really.

He stood up and looked away, hoping Saxon hadn't noticed, hoping there was another explanation at work.  Because he didn't like his current theory, not one bit, and today was looking like one of those days when the whole universe arranged itself to make his life more difficult. 

He suddenly wished that Martha was here, to say something sarcastic and deflating.

Which brought him back to--

"Where did you get this?" he asked suddenly.  _This_ being a sketch of a woman's face.  The work of a talented amateur, despite its expensive frame, a face drawn with more affection than skill and as dear to him as if it were--

"My wife," said Saxon.  "She found it.  That's a copy, of course, from a curious book she bought at an auction."  And there was the twist of the knife, and the nasty glitter behind those angelic eyes.  The Master smiled.  "It wasn't expensive, and she couldn't say why she wanted it.  It simply ... called to her."

"She's got good taste.  Aside from the obvious."

"Cheap, Doctor."

"Sorry.  Still caught a bit off-guard.  I'm used to being extinct, or nearly."

"I suppose it's a new excuse for your raging egomania."  Saxon stood up.  "I have a meeting with the Japanese ambassador in five minutes," he said.  "So I'm afraid I'm going to have to bring this to a close, have you arrested, tortured, the usual.  Don't bother making a last-minute escape.  It will be quite impossible."

"Didn't even cross my mind," said the Doctor, unfortunately with perfect honesty.  And by the time he'd come up with a viable escape plot, uniformed guards were fastening handcuffs to his wrist and confiscating his sonic screwdriver.  Which had been an essential part of his plan, and maybe he was just getting predictable. 

He was pretty sure that the next little while was going to be highly unpleasant.  And there was only small comfort to be derived from knowing that Romana was going to kill the Master when everything had been sorted out.  And then kill him again, and again, and as many times as it took. 

The Doctor hoped he'd survive long enough to help.

 

_end_


End file.
